


Red Sky at Night

by AncientCovenants



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Multi, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24714196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AncientCovenants/pseuds/AncientCovenants
Summary: Four months after being dragged to Hell, Alex digs himself out of his own grave. After reuniting to his loved ones, Alex starts to wonder what exactly pulled him from Hell in the first place... and what it will want in return.AKA What If... the RNM characters lived in the Supernatural universe?
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been re-watching episodes of Supernatural on TNT in the mornings and suddenly my brain went "What if the characters of Roswell, New Mexico lived in the Supernatural universe?"
> 
> And here we are...

_Rip, tear, shred—_

Someone screamed.

_Pain, ache, agony…_

Everything was red, so _red…_

He couldn’t, couldn’t process—

_Numb._

_Shock._

Dying, he was dying…

_Sleep, rest…_

_Black._

_Darkness._

_Breathe._

He gasped for air, reaching out for something, not sure whether he wanted to push it far, far away or pull it close and ground himself.

_Thud._

_No._

He banged on the thing he encountered twice to test its give before daring to open his eyes.

_Black._

_Darkness._

He unclenched his fists and laid his hands flat on the surface, closing his eyes once more.

_Breathe._

_In, out._

_In._

_Out._

Panic was a luxury he could afford later. Right now he needed to think…

What was it that had been drilled into him?

_There are three easy steps to ensure your continued survival:_

_Step One:_

_Collect information._

It was too dark to see anything past the suffocating black. Sight was useless.

He scraped his fingernails on the surface beneath his hands.

_There was texture, grain?_

_By the sound, wood?_

He felt along the flat plane until he came across an edge.

_A corner? From the inside… maybe a latch of some kind…_

_Nothing._

Though from the shape and dimensions he could surmise that he was in a box, possibly (probably) a coffin.

He was dead.

Someone had buried him.

He shut his eyes tight.

No, there was no proof of that…

_Focus on facts, not fantasy._

He shook his head and, parting his lips, took a deep breath.

It _smelled—_ it smelled like _rain_.

It _tasted_ like _rain_.

 _Petrichor_ , his mind supplied.

_So, not dead then._

_Good._

_Step Two:_

_Analyse and assess._

_Are you outnumbered? No, not that type of situation._

_Weapons? None… unless you counted sheer power of will a weapon, which according to his friends was at least a maybe._

Boy versus box, not the worst thing he’d gone up against.

Breaking through the box was only the first step though. Once he’d done so, he’d have to either contend with soft-packed soil or hard-packed dirt.

The first would likely start flooding in, taking away precious space and oxygen right away; speed would be key.

The second would likely stay still until he moved it, but it would clump and compress as he dug his way out, and exhaustion was as likely as suffocation.

The options gave him pause but for a second as he steeled himself.

He would be damned if he waited around for someone to save him…

He was in control of his own destiny.

_Step Three:_

_Fight._

There was no flight unless it was to live to fight another day.

And who knew how many of those he had left in _the box_.

He tore at the bottoms of his shirt sleeves, pulling the fabric tight against his knuckles.

_It was time._

* * *

They had buried him in the desert and placed small, smooth stones upon his grave.

He grunted as he hefted himself above the sand and stone. Falling onto his back, he scowled at the assaulting sun that buffeted him in sudden light.

Throwing an arm over his eyes he waited as his gaze got used to its vibrance once again. He was alive. Alive and staring at the sky as his eyes watered. From the light, obviously. He was nowhere near out of the woods—or desert, as the case was—yet and now was not the time to break.

He rolled to his side and pressed up off the ground of round black pebbles…

As far as the eye could see…

It had to be at least a quarter of a mile in every direction, all seeming to flow outwards from his late resting place. He could see beyond, beige sand in the distance and, on the horizon, mountains of ordinary rock, but here there was only jet black stone, smooth, as if weathered by the winds and rains, or maybe even the sea.

But it wasn’t natural here. Whatever had happened, whatever had done this, had brought him back and he wasn’t about to let the world pay a price for his return.

And there was _always_ a price.

Whatever or whomever had happened here, he needed to know. He needed to find them, to stop them, to undo the deal before the price was too high to pay.

But first, he needed clues, evidence…

He bent down and picked up a stone.

It was warm to the touch, comforting almost, despite the fact that it should have cooled overnight as the sun’s rays had just barely passed the mountains.

But that was a mystery for another time.

Pocketing the stone, he started walking.

* * *

He wasn’t sure how he knew in which direction to go but he ended up near a service station. It wasn’t terribly uncommon to find one out in the desert, the miles upon miles of seemingly endless road requiring fuel and rest for both vehicle and driver.

It was rather strange however, that it seemed to have been abandoned, yet he could practically hear the electricity surging though the old wiring, powering the commercial refrigerators within.

He tried calling out but when no reply came, he tried the door.

_Locked._

_Of course it was._

Praying that whomever the place belonged to would forgive a scavenger in desperate need of food and water, he took the shirt he had draped over his head to stave off madness from the sun and wrapped it around his arm. There was a tire iron leaning against the side of the building, near a worn bench. He grabbed it and smashed the window of the door, reaching in and unlocking the door.

It was cool inside, a pleasant relief from the scorching sun he had been in. He went straight for the water.

He knew better than to guzzle down water when he had just been baking in the scorching sun and hadn’t eaten in who knows how long. He sipped slowly at the ice cold water even though his parched throat wanted to bathe in it.

When he was about half of the bottle in, he looked around at the selection of food. Finding some saltines, he munched on a handful before topping off the meal with the rest of the water bottle.

As he explored the rest of the convenience store, he found a bathroom in which to freshen up. Splashing some water on his face, he leaned against the sink, head hanging low, hair covering his sight from the reflection in the mirror.

He’d been dead. _Physically_ dead. As in ripped apart, torn to shreds _dead_. There was no way he should have been standing there, let alone in one piece.

And then there were the scars that weren’t found on a body, the scars of his twisted tortured soul…

He didn’t want to look in the mirror and see someone he didn’t recognize.

He breathed in.

_It’s just a reflection…_

And breathed out.

_Only a reflection…_

_Ah, screw it…_

Shaking his head free of its melancholy thoughts, he grabbed the edge of the sink with a white-knuckled grip as he tossed back his head, glowering defiantly at whomever might be looking back.

_Oh, well, that wasn’t too bad…_

Mussed chocolate locks framed his tanned face, chestnut eyes hard.

He couldn’t see the cracks, the black marks blemishing his soul.

_Good._

He raised his shirt to see if he had any reminders of the day he died.

There was nothing.

It was like he had never died at all.

He shuddered out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and chuckled.

It really _was_ a miracle.

He was _alive_.

With renewed vigor, he smiled.

And froze.

His smile faded away like a wisp of smoke.

Hoping it was merely a trick of the light, his left hand came up to cover the anomaly he’d imagined on his right bicep.

Except that he could feel it.

Raised scar tissue, warm to the touch, much like the stones he’d found over his grave.

He raised the sleeve of his tee and turned to get a better look.

It was a handprint.

Whatever had pieced him back together had _marked_ him, had—had _branded him_.

The mark shimmered in the meagre lighting, pink and purple and bluish-green…

He pulled his sleeve back down.

He didn’t have time to ponder what it meant right now, though the myriad of possibilities that went through his head were each more terrifying than the last.

He had to get home.

His search through the rest of the store gained him another button up shirt from the manager’s office to replace the one he’d torn up (at least now he’d look somewhat presentable), a landline (with no dial tone, _of course_ …), a utility knife ( _always useful_ …), a couple of bags in which to carry food and water (mostly just crackers and protein bars to get his stomach used to eating again and to keep his energy up), and a cash register.

He made a mental note to see if he could track down the owner of the place one day to pay them back for everything as he pressed the NO SALE button, opening the register.

He had no idea where he _was_ let alone how he was supposed to get back to civilization. Maybe there was a map somewhere or at least some sort of transportation that he could borrow—

A radio played softly in the background.

_A radio?_

He didn’t remember turning on _any_ appliances, least of all a _radio—_

He turned and reached out a hand to shut off the small box by the window, staring at it with baited breath as he silently counted to ten in his head.

Nothing happened.

—or maybe he was just losing his mind.

_That probably makes the most sense…_

He shook his head and pocketed what little money there had been in the register in case he needed it. He went to grab the bag of food when a soft melody caught his attention.

He’d turned the radio _off_ …

He glared at the device as he slowly made his way around the counter and towards the door.

Was it just him or were the lights getting _brighter?_

The music started to change, melody and harmony blending together into a single high pitched whine.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t natural.

He dove straight for the containers of salt he’d seen on the shelves, barricading the front door with a salt line in case this _thing_ was a ghost as the noise got higher and louder and he could no longer hear himself think.

The salt fell to the floor as he doubled over, covering his ears with his hands for all the good that would do. The sound was nearly unbearable now, climbing ever higher, the glass panes of the windows and door vibrating with its frequency until they burst.

He dove back, shutting his eyes tight and pressing back against the front of the counter until suddenly it… stopped.

There was nothing.

Silence fell, blanketing the store in peace.

He slowly unfurled his limbs, straightening from his tightly hunched position to a sitting one as he tried to steady the frantic pounding of his heart.

 _Breathe in, two, three, four_ …

 _Breathe out, two, three, four_ …

 _In, two, three, four_ …

 _Out, two, three, four_ …

Drained, he leaned against the counter and let his head fall backwards. The lightbulbs were gone too and a glance at the refrigerators revealed that they too hadn’t come out of this unscathed. He had no doubt the mirror in the bathroom and ancient computer screen in the manager’s office were in a similar shape.

He didn’t want to be here if whatever that was returned, else he could be the next broken thing lying in a million tiny pieces on the floor.

He heaved himself up, grabbing the food and water he had gathered and shakily making his way back out into the sun and desert heat.

A vehicle of some sort would be useful right about now; he wanted to put as much distance between himself and this place as possible.

(And he didn’t even want to _think_ about the implication that this could be the same thing that raised him out of hell and that it was somehow _tracking him._ )

He circled around towards the back of the station hoping to get lucky and stopped, staring at the sight.

There was a truck.

An honest-to-goodness _truck._

He felt like _laughing._

He would have too, but after what just happened inside, he didn’t want to tempt whatever Power was looking out for him.

Tossing the bags onto the passenger’s seat, he searched the visors and glovebox for keys.

Guess he wasn’t _that_ lucky…

No matter; he’d acquired a lot of skills in his lifetime, some of them less _legal_ than others.

He pulled out the utility knife and set to work.

* * *

He’d reached a town with a diner—he could _really_ use some coffee—that conveniently had a functioning phone booth across the street.

Thank you, Small Town, USA.

He made seven phone calls, all short and ending with: "We're sorry, the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected."

How long had he been gone that everyone seemed to have gone on without him? His eyes swam at the thought. He didn’t want to be selfish, but he missed his family. He shut his eyes tight, pressing the palms of his hands to them as he leaned against the inside of the booth.

He didn’t have time to wallow in self-pity, he had to figure out which one of the idiots in his motley crew made a deal to get him out of hell before the thing that did the deed found him again.

Running his hands through his hair he took a deep breath and dialled the next number on his list.

“¿Sí?”

 _Someone answered_ …

“Arturo—”

“Who is this?”

Alex swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“It’s me. It’s Alex.”

The sound of the dial tone rang loud and clear, disbelief or denial being the likely culprits. Not one to be dissuaded after such a breakthrough, he dialled the same number again.

“Who are you?”

“Arturo, wait, don’t hang up—”

“Escúchame, pendejo. This is not funny. I know I’m an old man but if you call here again, I _will_ kill you. _¡Vete al diabolo!_ ”

The dial tone mocked his efforts.

He knew enough Spanish to know that, loosely translated, that last part meant _‘Go to Hell!’_

He groaned in frustration.

_“I was just there…”_


	2. Chapter 2

He thought about getting a motel room for the night but quickly dismissed the idea.

If there _was_ something tracking him and it attacked, better for there to be no one else around to get caught in the crossfire.

So, instead, he bartered for a blanket at a local crafts fair and drove out into the desert.

Sitting in the bed of the truck, he watched as the sun set on the horizon, the sky a fiery red. It brought forth the memory of an old mariner’s rhyme:

> _Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight._
> 
> _Red sky at morning, shepherd’s take warning._

The red sky was a good omen and, for the first time since he woke up in that wooden box, he allowed himself to feel a spark of hope that everything would be all right.

He took out the black stone from his pocket and stared at it in the last of the sun’s rays. Running his fingers over its smooth surface, he wondered how something so beautiful could be a sign of something wicked and evil.

The stone lay flat in the centre of his palm, exuding warmth. It was almost…

Peaceful.

That night he slept in the desert under the stars, covered in a blanket made by innocents he’d sworn to protect, the stone a steady, soothing presence in his hand.

* * *

He was nervous.

Hunting was a full time job requiring weeks, if not months, of travel (especially when on back-to-back cases). So when his father’s old hunting partner, Jim Valenti, had left _him,_ _of all people,_ his cabin upon his death, he mostly just went there every once in a while to air the place out.

Until Arturo’s eldest had come into her powers.

When that happened, Arturo began looking for a place away from Roswell were Rosa wouldn’t have to worry about possibly hurting others with her newfound abilities.

He didn’t have to think twice. He gave up the cabin he barely used and the Ortechos had made it their home.

Every once in a while he found himself stopping by to visit and help out or just generally make sure that everything was okay.

Until Arturo’s youngest had come home and all but moved in.

Whilst he sat and stewed and bemoaned losing the people he’d come to care for, Liz had come to him and told him that he was invaluable to them, that there was no one who could ever replace him, and that he was an Ortecho in spirit, if not in name.

In between hunts he found himself spending his time there, with the people he loved.

And so, he was nervous as he approached the Ortecho cabin. This place, the people in it, they were _family._

It was home in every way that mattered.

He didn’t know what he’d do if he was turned away.

Steeling himself with resolve, he knocked.

“What, did you forget your key—”

The man stood at the door, eyes wide at the sight before him.

Despite being told multiple times that he could call him by his first name, he couldn’t help himself as the name rolled off the tongue.

He smiled uncertainly, “Hi, Mister Ortecho.”

“You died,” he said in a tone both accusatory and in awe.

He shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond to that.

“Yeah, I was… there.”

“But-how?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.”

Arturo looked him up and down suspiciously before his expression relaxed.

“Well, come in then. Are you hungry? Have you eaten?”

He followed him into the kitchen.

He let Arturo talk about what he could make him with what he had—Liz was out on a grocery run apparently and would be back shortly—but he wasn’t very hungry.

He was just happy to be _home._

And then the unthinkable happened.

As he stood there by the island in the middle of the kitchen, the man who was closer to him than his actual father lunged at him with a silver kitchen knife.

Arturo had been a hunter for 10 years, ever since his wife disappeared. He became a hunter out of necessity, out of a need and want to protect those he loved and to find the truth about those he couldn’t.

He didn’t hunt so much anymore, not since he found out he was pre-diabetic, but that didn’t mean he was any less formidable.

Luckily, _he’d_ been raised as a hunter practically from birth, survival instincts deeply ingrained into his very being.

He dodged.

“Whoa, wait! I’m not a shapeshifter!”

“That is _exactly_ what a shapeshifter would say!”

Okay, that was… fair. Time for a new strategy.

“Your name is Arturo Ortecho. You became a hunter after your wife disappeared and Rosa brought Liz back home unconscious. She never talks about what happened that day, not to anybody…” He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “Not even to Liz.” He remembered holding Liz when she confessed not knowing what happened that night didn’t hurt her nearly as much as her own sister feeling she couldn’t confide in her. He took a breath. “And you—you are the closest thing I have to an actual _dad._ Arturo, _it’s me._ ”

He could see him hesitate. Arturo wanted to believe and he _wanted_ him to believe. Arturo lowered the knife and took a step towards him. Then another. He laid his hand on his chest, over his wildly beating heart. Then, he brought up his other hand, still holding the knife—

—and he just barely succeeded in deflecting the blow. Managing to disarm him, he stepped back and held the knife between them.

“I’m not a revenant, either.”

Arturo’s eyes narrowed.

“Prove it.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes as he unbuttoned one of his cuffs and rolled up the sleeve.

“Silver knife…” he said, holding it up before putting it to his own arm. “Plain old human.” He cut a thin line into his arm until it started to bleed ordinary red human blood.

“Alex?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

Arturo’s eyes started to water as he crossed over and drew him into a fierce hug.

“It’s good to see you, mijo.”

He let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

“Yeah, you too.”

He heard a crash coming from the doorway of the kitchen. Arturo let him go and turned, both heads looking at the source of the sound.

“Liz…”

Her name came out as a sigh, as if he didn’t realize just how much he missed her until just then.

Groceries were forgotten on the floor where they landed as her hands came up to cover her mouth in disbelief.

“Alex…”

He smiled. She rushed over with her arms wide open to give him a hug before zeroing in on his arm and grabbing for it instead.

“What happened?”

Alex bit back an amused grin as Arturo looked distinctly uncomfortable. Which Liz’s ever sharp eyes immediately caught, her own narrowing.

“Dad, what did you _do?_ ”

Arturo raised his hands in self defense.

“I had to make sure it was really him!”

“ _Ay, papi…_ ” She turned back to him and smiled brightly. “Okay, heal first, hug later.”

Alex laughed.

“Believe me, I am _all_ for that.”

* * *

They salvaged what groceries they could and he made a mental note to buy them more as soon as he got the chance. After all, it was the shock of seeing him alive that caused Liz to drop them in the first place… he figured he owed them.

Arturo puttered away making his famous churro pancakes, the ones reserved for special occasions and important discussions, as he sat at the island basking in the love and warmth of his family. Liz cleaned and bandaged his arm methodically, giving him the third degree along the way in true Elizabeth Ortecho fashion.

He missed this.

“How are you back, Alex? I mean, it’s not that we’re not glad you _are_ , but your body was torn to _shreds_ and it’s been four months since we _buried you._ ”

Four months. A third of a year. He couldn’t even begin to imaging what they’d gone through, mourning the loss of one of their own.

“I don’t know. I wish I could give you answers, but I don’t have them.”

Liz finished bandaging his arm and went to put away the first aid kit as Arturo placed a plate of the most delicious smelling food he could ever remember in front of him, eyebrows knit in worried thought.

“What _do_ you remember?”

He swallowed, thinking back as he chose his words carefully.

“Not much. I remember being a hellhound’s chew toy and then, lights out. I came to in a box six feet under and that was it.”

Liz offered him a glass of water.

“Here, it looks like you need it.”

He nodded in thanks taking a gulp down before the flavour of it hit him and he choked. He glared at the glass, brain turning over to puzzle the pieces together before he looked at Liz, single eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“Salted holy water? _Really?_ ”

Liz shrugged innocently.

“One can never be too careful.”

A mock offended look passed his face before he smiled at her cunning.

“I’m not a ghost, you know… _or_ a demon.”

“I know that…” She said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Taking the glass from him, she turned to wash it out in the sink. “ _Now._ ”

He rolled his eyes.

_God, she’s such a Slytherin…_

It was good to know some things never changed.

“So, why did you bury me anyway?”

Arturo sighed. “I wanted to give you a hunter’s funeral: salt, fire, the works… but Kyle and that one,” he tilted his head in his daughter’s direction, “wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Well,” he said, accepting another seemingly innocuous glass of water from Liz. “I’m glad they won that one.” He stared at the new glass Liz gave him. Now it was her turn to roll her eyes at him as he slowly brought it up and took a sip.

Satisfied it was actually water this time, and not some horrendous mixture of who _knows_ what, he set down the glass and picked up his fork, asking the question festering in his mind.

He looked at Liz who sat down to her own plate of pancakes. “How _did_ you know that I’d need a body when I got back?”

Liz was unnaturally quiet as she picked at her pancakes with her fork. He waited patiently until she sighed and looked at him. “I took a page out of your playbook.” The hint of a bittersweet smile pulled at the edges of her lips. “I had _hope._ That and I prayed for a miracle. Who knows…” she shrugged. “maybe it was an angel that brought you back to us.”

Demons, ghosts, cryptids, now _angels?_ He looked at her sceptically.

“Angels don’t exist, Liz.”

* * *

Fed and content for the time being, they moved into the den. Arturo sat in his usual chair and Liz joined him on the small sofa by the window, knees touching, almost as if she didn’t quite believe he was there and needed the reminder.

He didn’t mind, though. He kind of liked having a reminder that he was alive himself.

“Okay, so it’s been four months… fill me in. What’s everyone been up to? How’s Rosa?”

Arturo leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled together as he levelled him with a look. “When I last spoke to her she told me she realized just how precious a gift you’d given her, a second chance at _life…_ ” The mixture of gratitude, sincerity and awe was overwhelming and he gave Arturo a hesitant smile as he continued. “She didn’t want to _waste it…_ She’s still in rehab but she’s doing well, should be out in a couple of months.”

“Good, I’m glad.” He let out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. “Maria?”

The Ortechos shared a look.

“Alex,” Liz said carefully. “Maria’s _out._ ”

He’d been dead for four months so it took him a while to piece together what that meant. “Out… hunting?”

“More like out _of_ hunting. _”_

_It couldn’t be…_

“Sí,” Arturo added with a smile as he leaned back. “She’s living a normal life now, owns a bar in town, even has a business on the side…”

“Wow.”

He never thought he’d see the day that _Maria DeLuca_ gave up _hunting._ If Liz was something of a sister to him, then Maria was his best friend. When they met it was like their souls brushed up against each other and became perpetual friends.

Maria got him in a way no one else did. She was kind and brave and sympathetic and always willing to lend an ear when he didn’t want to bother Kyle or the Ortechos with his problems. She was a kindred spirit and he was _glad_ she got out of the business. It gave her a chance to find happiness, away from the horrors the world had to offer.

That didn’t mean he’d miss her any less…

“I’m happy for her.” A bittersweet smile graced his lips. “If anyone deserves a chance at normal, it’s Maria.”

He’d avoided asking about the last member of their makeshift little family until now, heart beating faster at the thought. He didn’t pray but he sent out a silent message to all the powers that be for him to be alive and well.

Because he hadn’t been alone in that room where he’d been torn to ribbons, sliced up by tooth and claw and dragged to hell.

He’d been with Kyle.

“I, uh…” he cleared his throat. “I couldn’t get a hold of Kyle. Is he—”

“He’s alive…” Arturo answered. “As far as I know.”

“Good, that’s—” The words sank in with a weight that threatened to crush him. “Wait…” His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘as far as you know’?”

Arturo shifted in his seat. “I haven’t talked to him in months.”

Months.

_Months?_

_He’d_ only been gone for four months… how many months had Kyle been gone?

“Please tell me you’re kidding…” He wasn’t, he could see it in his eyes, feel it in Liz tensing next to him. “You just let him go off by _himself?_ ”

“There was no stopping him…” Arturo shook his head sadly. “He was dead set on it.”

The weight turned into molten lava as he hissed at the closest thing to a father he had.

“And now he _could_ be dead… _as far as you know._ ”

“Alex!” Liz’s voice tried to cut through the thunder roaring in his ears. He could see the pain he was causing as Arturo fell silent but he couldn’t stop because this— _this_ was _important_ and they— _they had to_ _understand._

“If this was Kyle, if he made a deal that brought me back… who even knows what he bargained away. His soul, something worse—”

He stood and started to pace. He had to move, he had to take action, he had to—to _do_ something, _anything…_

He’d been dead for four months he had to—he had to…

He had to _make_ them understand.

“Whatever or whomever brought me back wasn’t messing around.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“You should have seen the grave site. You buried me in sand and I had to dig my way out of rocks.” He pulled out the smooth stone he’d taken from the site of his resurrection. “These were everywhere. At first I thought _you_ put the stones on my grave but they went on for at least a quarter mile in every direction, like whatever _power_ was used to bring me back turned the sand into _this._ ”

He held it up. Liz stood as well, reaching a hand out, palm up.

“May I see that?”

He place it in her hand and the floodgates opened, his story pleading to be heard.

“I started walking… just picked a direction and headed that way. There was nothing around for miles until I came to this-this service station. And there—”

He couldn’t—he couldn’t _describe_ it, didn’t have the _words_ for it—

“There was this force, this presence that… I-I- _I don’t know_ but I could _feel_ it and-and—”

Shaking fingers started on the buttons of the shirt he wore.

“And then there’s this.”

He took off the long sleeved shirt and pulled up his t-shirt sleeve to show the still glowing handprint on his upper right arm.

“¡¿Qué demonios?!”

“What is _that?_ ”

“I woke up _completely_ healed—not a mark or a scratch on me—except for this.”

Liz’s eyes were blown wide. “I-I need to run tests, take blood samples…” she was in full on research mode. “We need to consult the books, the lore… see if there’s _any_ mention—”

“What I _need…_ ” he interrupted her. “Is to find Kyle. So I can stop whatever this is.” He let go of his sleeve. “Before it comes for me, before it sets its sights on you…” He didn’t want to die, especially not so soon after he’d been brought back, but he would do it a million times over if it meant keeping his family _safe._

“You really think Kyle had anything to do with this?”

“I think…” He swallowed, the truth of it stinging. “It’s what I would have done.”

One year and four months ago he had bartered his soul to bring Rosa back from the dead. Now this—

He wasn’t worth all the trouble it could bring.

“Alex, this is a _miracle._ ” Arturo stood and he wanted to believe, he _really_ did, that that was _all_ it was. “Whomever or whatever brought you back… you’re _here_ with us now… that’s what matters.”

He was wrapped in a hug, a blanket warm and tight and full of an emotion he couldn’t bring himself to feel because overriding it was…

He looked over Arturo’s shoulder and met Liz’s eyes.

He knew that look, knew it was mirrored in his own.

Bitter, bone-chilling, all-encompassing…

_Fear._

* * *

He’d planned on starting his night with an honest-to-goodness _bath,_ something he rarely let himself have but, being that he’d spent the last four months in literal _hell,_ felt that he deserved.

He’d planned on spending the night crashed in an actual bed, not a pine box or the back of a pick-up truck.

He’d planned on spending the night searching for Kyle on his laptop until he either fell asleep or had a lead.

He’d planned on a lot of things.

What he _hadn’t_ planned on was Liz Ortecho.

She caught up with him the hallway as he came out of the bathroom, clean and relaxed for the first in a very long time.

And she handed him a piece of paper.

He blinked, frowning.

“What’s this?”

“It’s where Kyle’s currently holed up.”

That—may have been even more surprising than the thing that was after him.

He gave her a look, eyebrow raised high in question.

She shifted.

“I—may be keeping closer tabs on him than dad knows.”

There was something strange about the way she said it, like she was vaguely uncomfortable.

Which still struck him as _stranger_ than the rest of his life since he’d been brought back from hell.

But, then again, maybe it was just that he was out of practice reading her. Yeah, a good night’s sleep, a couple of days to reacclimate himself to this world and everything would go back to normal…

He _was_ for the lead grateful though. It bought him a couple extra hours of sleep.

“Thanks, Liz.”

Nodding in appreciation, he turned, heading towards the room he usually shared with Kyle when they were both crashing at the cabin. His hand had just grasped the handle when he heard a voice, small and hesitant and not like its owner at all.

“Alex?”

He paused.

“Bring him home.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently my theme for this story is, "When in doubt, angst it out." I hope there are a few laughs along the way but I finally figured out why I’ve been stuck on this chapter for so long: I lost the rhythm, the feel for this story. So I put it on a back-burner for like a solid month and a half. Then I re-read it and realized that the problem was mostly that the scene transitions were too sudden. So I added exposition. And angst. And here it is!
> 
> This chapter came to be much longer than anticipated. The next chapter may be shorter... but I make no promises. Also, though I try to keep violent scenes as abstract as possible, I may have to up the rating (just in case) for the next chapter. I am so sorry about the long wait... but I do hope you enjoy, nevertheless!

_Knock, knock, knock._

_“Just a minute!”_

There was a shuffling on the other side of the door, followed by a thump and cursing before the door opened.

Kyle stood there, sans shirt and barefoot, the waistband of his boxers peeking over the top of low-slung sweatpants that looked like they’d just been pulled on for modesty’s sake.

Apparently he’d caught him at a bad time.

Fiddling with the wallet in his hands, he didn’t bother to look up as he spoke. “How much do I owe,” Until he did. “you…”

His mouth gaped, face ashen.

He couldn’t blame him… it was how most people reacted to seeing a ghost.

He felt like he was staring at one himself.

In the four months he’d been gone, Kyle had _changed._

Gone was the boy he remembered bringing into the fold so he could find peace in the truth of what caused his father’s death.

In front of him stood a man, in every sense of the word, face gaunt, cheekbones standing out in stark relief, eyes sunken and shadowed with the telltale signs that they had seen too much strife, _experienced_ too much grief in their short lifetime…

He swallowed thickly, trying to keep the welling of his eyes in check even as he wanted nothing more than to hold this man and protect him from the world.

As the youngest in his family, he never knew what it was like to be an older brother…

Until now.

“Miss me?”

He really _had_ changed.

Before now, he couldn’t recall a time when he’d bested him in hand-to-hand _or_ weapons combat.

That’s not to say he wasn’t a good hunter, just that he didn’t have over a decade’s worth of experience to draw on.

But, _clearly,_ someone had been training.

He found himself pinned to the wall next to the door, demon blade at his throat, though were he could have pulled that from so quickly was anyone’s guess.

 _“Who are you?”_ he growled.

First Arturo, now Kyle… people _really_ had to stop trying to kill him.

Not one to be intimidated, he met his gaze head on and narrowed his eyes challengingly.

“Who do you _think?_ ”

Evidently Kyle still had a lot to learn because he let his emotions bleed just enough hope into him to ease off just the tiniest bit.

That was all the opening he needed.

Distracting him with a few well-placed blows, he disarmed him, dancing away to middle of the room with the blade, far enough that they could take a few moments to talk before things escalated.

“Tell you what,” he said, lodging the tip of the blade in the table closest to him. “Let’s think about this rationally. I’ll take any test you can think of to prove I’m not whatever creature you think I am.”

Kyle looked at him suspiciously, seething.

“You can even call Liz or Arturo and confirm the results with them… they’ve already run all the tests anyways.”

He held his breath as Kyle slowly walked over to his overnight bag, eyes only leaving him long enough to pull a shirt over his head.

Well, alright then.

He took a seat and waited.

The tests were set up on the table in front of him and Kyle leaned against the partition for the room, arms crossed in front of him as he eyed him warily.

One by one, the tests were passed. Iron was touched without any residual effects, the bandage covering yesterday’s silver knife test was taken up and a new test result of _‘still no effect’_ added.

He poured some of the holy water into a plastic cup and, under Kyle’s watchful eye, added some salt to it.

Kyle raised an eyebrow.

 _“Salud.”_ He raised the cup in a toast to the end of the trials… again.

He grimaced at the taste. It didn’t get any easier the second time around.

Placing the now empty cup upside down on the table, he fixed Kyle with a weary glare.

“Satisfied?”

Kyle unfolded his arms, staring at him in wary awe as he made to take a step towards him, then stopped, fists clenching at his sides.

“How are you back?”

He raised his eyebrows, challengingly. “You don’t know?”

“No,” his jaw tensed. “I don’t.”

“Really?” If Kyle still wanted to keep up the pretence that he’d had nothing to do with his resurrection, then he’d drag the truth out of him the hard way. He wasn’t about to let someone else put their life—or their soul—on the hook for his. “‘Cause, according to Arturo, you’ve been MIA—”

“I’ve been busy.” His eyes darted around the room like a cornered animal looking for an escape.

His eyes narrowed, disappointment lacing his words. “Too busy to call home.”

Kyle started pacing, running his hands through his hair. “You don’t know what it was like, alright? We had to _bury_ you.”

His temper flared, though he kept it in check, schooling his features into an icy coolness that his enemies despised.

_Like he hadn’t been there, like he hadn’t had to dig himself out of his own grave…_

Instead,

“Yeah, he mentioned that. What he didn’t mention was why.”

Kyle stopped pacing and turned to him, arms coming up to fold over his chest as if trying to hold himself together, eyebrows knit in confusion.

“You were dead…”

“And now I’m not. What was the _cost?_ ”

His eyes widened, arms falling to his sides, hands clenched into fists gearing for a fight.

“You think I made a deal?”

He met his eyes, defying him to say other than what he already feared.

“That’s exactly what I think.”

“I-I didn’t.”

And all at once the fight seeped out of him. He looked like the boy who’d come to him three years back, so lost, so vulnerable his heart _ached_ for him.

The ice he’d gathered started to crack.

“Don’t lie.” He met Kyle’s eyes. “Not to me.”

Because this was Kyle and he knew him better than he knew himself.

And the simple fact that he was still hiding something from him, even at his most open and vulnerable, was like an ice pick straight to his heart.

“What? Alex, I’m not. I’d never—”

“Was it just your soul or something worse?” He was angry, so very angry. Because being angry was easier than the pain that Kyle was still holding back. “I'm off the hook and you're on, is that it? I didn't want to be saved like that, Kyle!”

“I wish it _was_ me, okay? I wish I _could_ tell you that I found a way to bring you back but I _didn’t…_ ” Kyle pleaded with him, desperately trying to make him see, to make him _understand…_ “And I _tried,_ alright? I _tried_ opening the Devil’s Gate, I _tried_ to strike a bargain but no demon would deal…” He closed his eyes. “You were rotting in hell for months— _months_ and I couldn't stop it. Just like I couldn’t stop…”

Oh.

_Oh…_

So that’s what this was all about.

“That wasn’t your _fault. I_ made the choice to bring Rosa back, _I_ made the choice to trade my soul for her life, that’s not _on you._ ”

“But I was there.” He sat upon the foot of one of the beds, heavy as the weight in his soul. “The day those hellhounds dragged you to hell, I was _there._ And I just stood by and _watched_ as they tore you apart, I stood there and did _nothing…_ ”

“What were you supposed to do? Get yourself killed trying to save me? Get your soul dragged to hell right alongside mine? You know I’d never forgive you for that.”

“Yeah, maybe…” He looked away. “But I don’t think I can forgive myself. Not for this.”

He wanted to weep but bit his lip instead.

Rosa had died. But Rosa was Kyle’s sister. She was Liz’s sister and Arturo’s daughter, Maria’s friend. And no matter how messed up she was, she was family. So he’d brought her back, simple as that.

He never thought about the consequences, assumed they’d mourn for a little while then move on. They were hunters, it’s what they did. They kept going even if they couldn’t because someone had to.

But…

Rosa was getting help. She was putting in effort so she didn’t waste the life she’d been given a second chance at.

Maria was done with hunting… for good. She’d quit when he’d died.

Arturo and Liz had treated him like family, forgiven him like the prodigal son returned and held him close.

And Kyle… Kyle was blaming himself. He felt guilty because he thought he could’ve saved him, because he’d _wanted_ to but didn’t…

He swallowed through the sudden lump in his throat.

He wasn’t as expendable as he’d thought.

His phone rang.

_Oh, good._

He needed a break from this conversation.

“Yeah?”

“It’s jet.”

He put the phone on speaker.

“What is?”

“The stone you found on your grave… it’s jet. We haven’t found anything in reference to its connection with any demons or cryptids yet but dad and I are looking through the lore as we speak… thought you’d like an update.”

“Thanks, Liz.”

“So…” She started, curiously sweet. “you found Kyle yet?”

He spared a glance at his downtrodden companion on the bed.

“Found Kyle. Pissed at Kyle.”

Liz chuckled over the phone.

“What’d he do?”

“Kyle blames himself for me going to hell.”

The reply came almost instantaneously.

“What? It’s not his fault…”

“That’s what _I_ told him but he doesn’t believe me which is why I’m pissed at Kyle.” He took a moment to glare at him.

Kyle looked simultaneously exhausted and exasperated as he gave him a look that silently said, _‘seriously?’_

Then, all of a sudden, he was struck with one the most brilliant ideas he had ever had.

He stood, Kyle following his lead suspiciously.

His glare turned into a mischievous smile as his voice, saccharine sweet, said,

“Here, you talk to him. I’m gonna go grab some lunch.”

He took the phone off speaker and thrust it into Kyle’s hands even as his eyes widened in panic.

If _he_ couldn’t get through to him, maybe a feisty Latina could.

The last words he heard as he left the room grinning like the Cheshire cat were Liz screeching, _“Kyle Manuel Valenti!”_

* * *

Food made for an excellent distraction from unpacking his emotions. He still had a mission—figure out who broke him out of hell and _why_ —everything else could wait until it was done.

Finishing his burger, he got down to the most important and _delicious_ part of his meal.

He dipped a crisp, salty fry into his sweet, creamy milkshake. Then, closing his eyes, he took a bite.

_Perfection._

He opened them to see Kyle standing awkwardly by his table.

“You still do that?” he asked, making a face of something between horror and disgust.

“For you it’s been 4 months, for me it’s been, what? 4 days?” He grabbed another fry and swirled it in his milkshake as his companion looked away in shame. “So, yeah, I still do it.”

There was a pause as Kyle steeled himself like he was going to war.

“Alex—”

He pointed to the empty seat across from him with his fry.

“Sit.”

Like a puppet whose sting had been cut, Kyle fell into the vacant space.

“I’m sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through… what you’re still going through. As Liz put it, I’ve been ‘too busy moping around to do much of anything else’. I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t,” he snapped.

Regret flowed through his veins as Kyle ducked his head, looking like a remorseful child that believed he _deserved_ his blame, his _anger._

But he wasn’t angry, most certainly not at him.

He was frustrated at the situation that had made Kyle doubt himself, blame himself, _hate himself even_ , because he knew from experience how easy that was to do.

A situation of his own making because he never considered the consequences would hurt as much as they did. The whole thing was _his_ fault, yet here Kyle was trying to apologize for being human…

“I’m sorry.”

_Idiota. Didn’t he know he was already forgiven?_

“Look, hell was… well, _hell._ But I never once blamed you for what happened… _not once._ I made my decision to save Rosa because I know how much she means to Liz, to Arturo, to Maria _and_ to you. Choosing to bring her back? It was a no-brainer. I could make that sacrifice because it was for the people I love.”

He leaned in and met his eyes.

“I know you feel guilty that you didn’t step in and do the same for me. But, _honestly?_ If you had, if something _had_ happened to you, I’d never forgive myself. Going to hell would have meant _nothing_ if my family wasn’t _here,_ alive and well.”

And for once, since he’d first seen Kyle after his return, he actually seemed to believe him as the tension slowly started to bleed from his shoulders and a small, mischievous smile found its way onto his face.

“Well, I mean, Rosa’s still in rehab…”

_Why did he like him again?_

Rolling his eyes, he sat back.

“Okay, alive and _working_ on the ‘well’ part.”

The grin on Kyle’s face was worth the dramatics as some of the blame he’d laid on himself started to lift.

“So, where do we go from here?” Kyle asked, boldly stealing one of his fries.

_Heathen._

“You tell me what you’re doing here, hunting… _alone._ ”

Ignoring the admonishment, he grabbed a napkin to wipe off the evidence of his betrayal. “After you…” he gesturing vaguely with the napkin. “you know… Lilith was going to kill me.” His eyebrows raised. Clearly that hadn’t happened. “But she stopped, smoked out. I needed to find answers, hopefully find a way to bring you back and maybe even get a little payback in the process.”

He could understand the need to look for answers. Demons didn’t usually think twice about killing unless someone higher up on their chain of command gave them a different order… what he couldn’t wrap his head around was the _how._

“And you thought the best way to do that was to go out alone and get yourself killed,” he deadpanned.

Kyle looked incensed.

“Hey, I’ve been holding my own. And it’s not like you’re one to talk,” he shot back.

He couldn’t actually refute that point.

“That’s… fair.” He _may_ have run out of fingers to count how many times he’d gone out on a hunt with no one to watch his back. “So how’d you end up here?”

“I was tracking a den of demons based in Colorado. Then they just took off, left, booked it down here—”

 _That_ was strange…

“When?”

“Yesterday morning.”

That wasn’t just suspicious, it was downright coincidental… only there was no such thing as coincidence.

“That’s around the time I woke up.”

“You think these demons are here ‘cause of you.”

Bingo.

His eyes darted around to make sure no one was listening as he leaned in.

“I don’t know. Maybe. But some big, bad demon drags me out and now this… it’s gotta be connected somehow.”

“Yeah, but how?”

He smiled nonchalantly as if what he was about to suggest was just another walk in the park.

“Well…”

Four months apparently did nothing to separate his wavelength from Kyle’s who caught on quick and leaned in, hissing. “Are you _insane?_ ”

“Quite possibly. Got any better ideas?”

“We don’t even know what we’re dealing with.”

“What better way to find out?”

“No! Alex, you can’t just walk up to a demon and ask it for information!”

He shrugged as he leaned back in his chair, noting the waitress making her rounds circling towards them. “Why not? You said it yourself: we don’t have a clue what we're dealing with. So let’s _ask_ someone who might know.”

“Hey, fellas. Can I getcha anything else?”

He smiled at her politely as Kyle silently seethed across from him.

“Just the check, please.”

“Sure, sugar.” She totalled his meal and handed him the slip of paper. “Here ya go.”

“Thanks.”

She turned like she was about to leave but, instead, grabbed a chair from the next table over and turned it around to join them.

Just because he had no interest in women didn’t mean his smile didn’t make them swoon.

This was new though.

“Fishing for a tip?” Kyle asked.

“Oh, I’m _sorry…_ ” she said as she got comfortable, “and here I thought you were looking for us…”

She flashed pitch black eyes at them.

His face didn’t change but a pit settled in his stomach.

_This wasn’t the plan…_

Looking around the diner, he noticed that all the diner’s patrons shared the same obvious sign of possession.

_This definitely wasn’t the plan…_

It figured he’d escape hell only to walk into a diner full of demons…

The demon wearing a delivery driver at the counter got up and walked over to the door, locking it.

_Great. This was just great…_

It was bad enough he was surrounded by demons that either wanted to tear him apart or drag him back to hell—with his luck, _both_ —but Kyle was stuck in the middle of it as well.

He resisted the urge to bang his head against the table in despair.

 _“Alex Manes,”_ the demon wearing his waitress purred, “to hell and back.”

“So they tell me.”

“Well aren’t you _lucky?_ ” Funny, it almost sounded _bitter…_ “Tell me, _Manes…_ what makes you so special?”

“Wanna know a secret?” he leaned in, conspiratorially. It mirrored his movement, a shit-eating grin on its face, thinking it was going to have some vital piece of information revealed as to why he’d been pulled from hell.

So he’d tell it exactly what he knew.

He grinned and met its eyes. “Absolutely _nothing._ ”

Apparently it wasn’t buying the truth he was selling so he leaned back in his chair, shrugging and shaking his head.

“Seriously, I don’t know. It wasn’t my doing and I don’t know who pulled me out.” The thing had the gall to look over at Kyle for confirmation, as if he wouldn’t back any play he made regardless.

_Alright, time to flip the tables…_

“But if _you_ do,” he flashed that winning smile, “ _please,_ feel free to fill in the blanks.”

“Mind your tone, _boy…_ ” it snarled, “or I’ll drag you back to hell myself.”

_Touchy._

It seemed he’d hit a nerve.

Maybe being in hell had made him bolder. Or maybe the word he was looking for was _‘suicidal’._

Whatever it was, Kyle tensed across the table, ready to protect him. He twitched his hand, subtly signalling him to hold.

“You ever played poker?” he asked idly. “What do you do when you’ve got a weak hand but you don’t want to fold?”

The demon blinked, as if startled by the sudden change in conversation. But it didn’t respond and since it didn’t want to play his little game…

“Kyle?”

“Bluff?”

“Right.” He met the demon’s eyes. “I’m calling yours.”

“Oh?”

His smile got wider.

“Oh, yeah.”

“You think I’m lying?”

“I _know_ you are. If you were going to drag me to hell, you would have already done it. You don’t know what’s going on any more than we do but whatever it is, it’s got you _worried._ I’m not sure if you’re looking for answers for yourself or for your boss—” This one really _was_ a terrible poker player, he could read it like a book. “The higher ups don’t know either, do they? And you’re _scared._ ‘Cause whatever or whomever it was that freed me _wants_ me out and they’re a hell of a lot stronger than _you…_ ”

For eyes that didn’t have a soul he could read the panic in them, clear as day.

“How am I doing so far?”

It grit its teeth in response.

“You can go ahead and send me back now… just don't come crawling to me you’re the one who ends up royally screwed.”

The demon narrowed its eyes.

“I could rip out your trachea and show it to you before you could even blink.”

“Hm… probably.”

Then, before anyone could react, he punched the demon in the face. Kyle was halfway to his feet, eyes wildly darting between the two, though whether it was to protect him from the demon or the demon from him was anyone’s guess.

The demon he’d sucker-punched popped its dislocated jaw back in its socket and glared at him with a hatred that rivalled the heat of the sun.

If looks could kill, he’d be ash.

But other than that, no one moved.

The cadre of demons covering the diner stood still and silent as the night.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Let’s go, Kyle.”

* * *

“What was _that?_ ” Kyle asked as hurried to keep up with him.

“I punched a demon.” He shrugged, not pausing a step. “I do it all the time.”

He really wished Kyle would just let it go…

No such luck.

“How did you know they wouldn’t attack?”

“I… didn’t,” he admitted. “I don’t know. It just sort of… felt right at the time.”

“It _felt_ right?” He didn’t have to look at him to know there was a look of bewilderment on his face. “Alex,” Kyle paused, “you could have gotten us killed.”

“See, that’s the thing…” He slowed down. “I don’t think I would have. I think whatever pulled me out of the pit wants me alive. And…” He waited for Kyle to catch up. “I don’t think it’d send a few low-level demons to bring me in.”

“What—”

“There’s something I haven’t told you.” He paused, turning to him. “How much did Liz say over the phone?”

“Not much. She mentioned the whole ‘being brought back from the dead’ thing was kind of stressing you out and mostly just yelled at me for being an insensitive jerk.”

Yeah, that sounded like Liz…

“Which you were, but I forgive you. Funny, how easy that is…” He raised his eyebrows in a poignant stare. He didn’t have to tell Kyle he thought he should forgive himself.

But he did have to fill him in on everything that had happened so far, starting with waking up in his own coffin…

Which he did on their way back to the motel.

Shutting the door behind them and locked it, he took a quick peek out the window for good measure before turning back to his companion.

“Kyle? Say something.”

“This is insane.”

He rolled his eyes.

“That basically describes our entire lives…”

Kyle rounded on him.

“Someone or some _thing_ is hunting you.”

“We don’t know that. We don’t know much of anything actually. We’ve got a pile of questions and no shovel to clear them with…” His mind was racing. So much had happened in the last two and a half days, yet they were no closer to finding any answers. “But what I do know, is that we need help. We should call Liz and Arturo, fill them in on what happened.”

“What about the diner?” Kyle asked, pulling out his phone and handing it back to him.

“It’s almost sundown.” This he could do… it was just another hunt and he’d been on hundreds of them before his little stint in hell. It gave him something to focus on. “If they’re still maintaining their human covers, they’ll still be there after closing. We’ll try for a mass exorcism but most of the hosts I saw were already dead.”

He’d noticed the bruising pattern on the waitress’ neck before he’d struck the demon’s vessel so at least she hadn’t felt it. It was a small mercy but one he’d gratefully accept.

He scrolled through his contacts wondering what exactly he was going to tell the others.

* * *

Having a diner full of demons was worrisome. Having a diner full of demons that wanted to torture him for information he didn’t have about a mysterious and powerful benefactor that pulled him out of hell was even more so.

But the four of them agreed that the safest option was an exorcism. They could target multiple demons at once and there wouldn’t be a physical altercation unless one or more of the demons were smart enough to block out all sound of said exorcism from reaching their ears.

So the immediate plan was to get a couple hours of rest until nightfall, then rig the diner’s speakers to play a recording of an all-purpose exorcism, which he should be able to do from the breaker box _outside_ the diner… all they had to do is bar the exits and make sure no demon got out.

Simple enough.

That didn’t get them any closer to getting answers to their questions though.

Liz had a thought.

“Here’s a crazy idea—and before you shoot it down, just hear me out…” Knitting his eyebrows together suspiciously he glanced at Kyle who shrugged. “Maria.”

He closed his eyes, already shaking his head.

“She’s out, Liz. I don’t want to drag her into this.”

“First of all, out or not, she’ll maim us all if she finds out you’re back and no one told her. Second, she could help, use some of her psychic intuition to at least _point_ us in the right direction.”

“I don’t disagree I just…” he sighed and opened his eyes wearily. “Life’s hard enough without getting drawn back into the supernatural again. I just don’t want to ruin her chances of living a normal life free of demons, ghosts, magic, _all_ of it.”

Silence met him over the speaker phone as Kyle gave him a strange look.

“Did no one tell you about Maria’s side hustle?”

Now it was his turn to look confused.

“They told me she has a business on the side, yeah,” Kyle reached for his wallet as he spoke, “but they never told me what it was.”

“Oh.” Liz sounded surprised at the oversight. “ _Huh._ Kyle, show him.”

Kyle pulled out a business card and handed it over.

> _Maria DeLuca_
> 
> _Psychic Reader, Spirit Leader, Social Media Revitalizer and All-Around Goddess_

_Of course she did…_

To say he was surprised that she’d managed to make a business built around her natural psychic talents would be a lie. Only Maria would somehow find a way to make her psychic powers work for her.

He was impressed.

And though he was still on the fence about bringing her into this mess, he _did_ miss his best friend.

 _And_ it wasn’t really fair that the rest of his family all got to see him alive and well and she didn’t. Just because she was done with hunting didn’t mean he had to cut her out of his life completely.

_“There’s a balance in everything, Alex,” she used to say, “you just need to find it.”_

He let the crest of the bittersweet memory wash over him.

“Alright, fine. We’ll meet there noon tomorrow.” He could practically hear Liz grinning over the phone. “Bring the jet, maybe she can get a read on it or something.”

“Will do. We’ll keep searching through the books on our end in the meantime. Stay safe.”

“Always.”

He ended the call as Kyle checked the time.

“There’s still a couple of hours until dark. We should get some rest.”

As he looked around the room, something he’d clocked before but dismissed as unimportant made itself known.

“Two beds, huh?”

“Old habits.” Kyle replied softly.

Guess it was true what they said: old habits died hard. Because here they were, four months after his death, and Kyle had still subconsciously booked a room with two beds, one for each of them.

His eyes started to swim but he blinked hard.

He didn’t have time to let himself drown.

 _Focus on the_ _mission._

_Step one: Get some rest until nightfall._

_Step two: Exorcise the demons from the diner. If exorcism not possible, neutralize by any means necessary._

_Step three: Get some sleep._

_Step four: Visit Maria and hope she could help them find some new information or at least a clue as to why this was happening and who or what was behind it._

There was a plan in place and all he had to do was keep moving forwards.

Everything else could wait.

* * *

> _‘The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.’_

Darkness wrapped around them like a long-lost friend as they slipped through the shadows on their way to the diner.

It was quiet…

Too quiet.

There were no lights, not even in the sign of the diner itself, and it looked like the two streetlamps closest to the place had been blown out.

The door was slightly ajar.

Something was _wrong…_

He signaled Kyle to cover him as he nudged it open with his foot.

The demons were gone, their slowly rotting meat suits all that remained.

Someone—no, _something_ —had gotten here before them.

It was a massacre…

The acrid scent of burnt flesh filled his lungs, tiny wisps of smoke still rising from the now hollow sockets of their eyes.


End file.
